


It Seems A Love Song

by grimparadigms



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 20:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimparadigms/pseuds/grimparadigms
Summary: Caleb finally gets the nerve to apologize to Jester about the night down in the well.





	It Seems A Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> I know absolutely no german/zemenian so I apologize for my butchering of the beautiful language. Google translate can only help me so much.

_a tear falls_

_a ray lights the air_

_i'm in roses_

_all that I want is to remain_

_bare both your wrists_

_but I can't raise my head_

_it seems a love song_

\--- Marathon (In Roses) by Gem Club

 

-x-

 

He stands at the door to her room, torn and frozen - hand hovering above the handle. His other hand is beginning to feel numb, he flexes his fingers to feel _something_. He’s been anxious for days, mind-numbingly sick with a headache of thoughts, but just thinking of her grounds him temporarily. He needs to see her -- speak with her.

Things have been messy since Felderwin, and have only grown more chaotic with time. Somehow everything that has been buried within him all these years keeps breaking to the surface. He tries not to think of the scars he carries, visible on his arms, and the invisible ones that cover every inch of his soul. These people he’s chosen to surround himself with are beginning to see behind it all. It’s terrifying and with every breath he continues on.

But now he’s gone and hurt them -- he has hurt _her_ \-- and it makes everything begin to crumble again. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to her, he’s tried to talk it out inside his head but it’s a flimsy comparison. If he apologizes at her feet, maybe she’ll forgive him. 

“Jester?” He clears his throat, and he knows his voice is too quiet for her to hear. He knocks, a gentle rhythm.

It’s difficult not to let his mind wander towards the possibility of her anger. Maybe she’ll push him out the door and slam it in his face, or maybe she’ll be cool and brush him off - her violet eyes hard and punishing. He thinks of it all in quick succession before the door slowly opens.

“Hey, Caleb.”

She looks worn down, the days have felt long and endlessly dark, and he feels shameful for bothering her at this hour. She forces a smile and he hates that she’s putting on this performance, even now, just for him. She backs out of the doorway to let him in, and he tries not to shuffle his feet. It’s difficult to remain calm but he tries, for her.

“Jester, I-I have been meaning to speak with you.”

_Don’t lose your resolve now, Widogast._

“Oooookay,” she shuts the door and tries to lead him to her bed, the sheets a twisted mess. He wonders if perhaps she’s been having trouble sleeping. She sits and pats the spot beside her, beckoning him and he complies hesitantly.

“What’s wrong?” her voice is soft but warm, and already her fingers are light on his arm. It’s soothing, her cool fingers across the crossroads of pink scars. She’s close, her knee knocking into his and her shoulder only inches away. He can smell her perfume and the scent of cinnamon and pastries on her breath.

He wishes he was brave enough to hold her.

“I don’t know where to start, really. But I must apologize. That night, down in the well, I…”

She’s quick to pipe up, “Oh, _that_ . Caleb, it’s not a big deal. It’s not like it was _your_ fault.”

“ _Ja, ja_ …” He nods his head, though he blames himself profusely. Of all the people he could hurt in that moment, why had he burned her? He couldn’t imagine a universe where his fire-fueled anger could ever be directed towards her. “But I hurt you. _Burned_ you. And yet, you still tried to help me. I am… so sorry if I frightened you.”

_I frighten myself._

He thinks of how every moment his eyes would flutter open, back to the world of darkness -- mouth full of blood -- she was always there above him. Her remembers her eyes full of panic, and the warmth of her touch before a blade was slammed in his gut over and over. She remained, that coaxing light that kept trying to bring him back. In that moment she was his savior, but how could he properly thank her for that?

“What are you talking about, Caleb? We are friends, are we not? I didn’t want you to die. Even if you _were_ trying to kill me like seconds earlier.” She’s trying to keep it light and he feels his cheeks burn. “We’re friends.” She tilts her head at the last word, trying to emphasize her feelings.

“Friends,” he acknowledges. They are. The concept is only beginning to come back to him. It’s been too long that he’s spent alone that he forgot how much it hurts to care about others. He was learning, again, how to be a friend. But there were lines you didn’t cross with friends, and yet he desperately wanted to walk past that threshold into old forgotten territory -- one that left him aching but warm, and the touch of another kept him going.

_Romance_ , he felt the word tickle the back of his tongue. The books he read tried to paint it into an unparalleled concept of love, mischief, angst. He tried not to think of anything from before, that was an old life he didn’t want to relive. Hard to imagine if he could be apart of something now. Harder to imagine anyone _wanting_ him now.

“What are you thinking about? You’re so quiet and mysterious all the time, Caleb!” She taps the side of his head, and he turns to her with a faint smile. He catches her hand in his, holding it and slowly intertwining his fingers with hers. His thumb moves in slow circles against her blue fingers.

_You, always you,_ he thinks--shamefully. How can he convey the hardest things to say, that are stuck in his throat, deep inside his soul. There’s a deep, profound need to be loved by her--to cherish her, to hold her when she feels like the world has scorned her, to kiss her when she’s mid-laughter. He deeply wants and wants, and knows he deserves none of it.

“I am just thinking that I am quite lucky to have met you, _meine liebe_.”

He cannot help himself, he brings their hands to his lips, and presses a soft kiss to her palm. Her cheeks become a shade lighter, and his chest tightens, feeling his own smile grow larger. She’s biting her own lip, looking from his eyes to his lips, trying to read him.

“You really are, Caleb. I am like _the_ _best_ cleric you have ever met. Without me, you’d be like stinky, and probably stuck in Trostenwald. Admit it, I’ve made things so much better and like so fun.” She’s smirking now. She’s disarmingly charming and she knows it.

“You have,” he agrees.

“Your books would be lacking so many good, pretty dicks.”

“True.”

“Without me, you probably would have never seen the sea,” she boasts. “Nott and I wouldn’t have our detective agency. Frumpkin wouldn’t have Sprinkle and Nugget to play with.”

He nods, plays along, lets her relish in the idea that she’s brought him many great memories. She isn’t wrong. He has found it easier to smile, and harder to scowl when she’s in the room.

He stares into her eyes too long, dazed by her beauty, and those long lashes. He forces himself to look away before he does something he’d certainly regret later. He untangles his hand from hers and gets up from the bed, trying to put some distance between them.

“Well, I should go. You should sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Wait!”

She’s already bounced off of the bed, only a foot away from him -- wide, innocent eyes looking up towards him.

“I have a gift for you!” She’s so close for only a second before she’s running to her haversack, digging out her journal. She’s so quick, flipping through colorfully painted pages till she finds what she wants, gently ripping out a page. “I’ve been hiding it for like ages trying to make it perfect. But I can’t look at it anymore.”

She’s shoving the paper into his hands and it’s of him. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to this sudden image of him. He’s leaned up against a log, Frumpkin asleep in his lap, but he’s smiling--blushing madly--eyes cast down. She’s added each little detail, each small shadow carefully. It’s beautiful, and somehow of him, like he’s seeing himself for the first time through the eyes of another.

“You get crazy red sometimes, when I tell a _real_ dirty joke,” She giggles. “And I just had to put it to paper. You’re just so cute when you blush, Caleb.”

“I…” He swallows slowly, looking from the soft brushes of black ink to her sincere smile, and he feels overwhelmed.

He wishes he could recall this moment from their journeys. But Jester has said many things, and when she teases him he gets so flustered, his brain completely stutters.

“Whenever you’re sad or something, just look at this! Just remember that the _best cleric_ you know tells you the best jokes. And maybe you’ll like smile or whatever!”  She’s nervous and he wonders if her heart beat matches his own, because he thinks it’ll beat right out of his chest. She reaches up to poke him in the cheeks. “Maybe you’ll even get as red as you’re getting now!”

“ _Du bist wirklich etwas anderes_ ,” he mutters to himself. He takes the artwork and holds it to his chest, knowing that words would not be enough to express his affection.

“Thank you, Jester.”

“Of course, Caleb!”

He looks at her fondly, to those warm eyes, to her curved smile, to her dark blue hair that frames her face. She’s otherworldly; beyond anyone or any creature, beautiful and kind and full of life. How did he ever get lucky enough to cross her path?

“Goodnight, _liebeling_ ,” he says, as he takes a step towards the door.

“Goodnight, Caleb,” she winks.

He’s warm, his chest tight and he feels combustible. He thinks when he returns to his room he’ll have to give himself an hour of lying in bed, just breathing, trying to quiet his own heart. She’s driven him wild.

He leaves just as quietly as he’d arrived and tries his best to remain a calm, composed person in the hallway. But when she closes the door behind him, he keels over, hand over his heart.

_Breathe, Widogast._

He thinks he may be in love.

 


End file.
